


Out of Order

by Jackdaw816



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Meetings, Gen, Humor, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Torchwood One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26267902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaw816/pseuds/Jackdaw816
Summary: It's hard to interrogate someone that you can't understand
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: Bingo Fest 2020





	Out of Order

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer, I haven't listened to any Torchwood One audios and I also haven't seen her DW episodes in years, so I apologize for anything wrong with Yvonne's characterization
> 
> Big thanks to Louise, Nik, and Annika for helping with translations. Everything said in this fic has meaning, if you can figure it out, heh
> 
> Squares filled: Torchwood One, prequel/set before canon

Three hours after arriving at work on one ordinary Tuesday, Ianto heard alarms go off from the secure archives. He ran with the rest of his colleagues to investigate. Even working at Torchwood, this was the most interesting thing to have happened in a week.

Ianto made it just in time to see security haul off an unconscious man in a bright red coat, probably stunned by them. He watched them go, wondering how the man had managed to get in. Despite Torchwood One’s appearance as a standard office building, it was almost impossible to break into. He said as much to the colleague standing next to him.

“No clue. Guards outside didn’t see a thing. Was like he just appeared out of thin air,” the colleague responded. Ianto watched as the crowd dispersed and frowned. He wanted to know more, but he didn’t expect much. He’d probably meet up with Lisa after work, and they’d gossip about what fool had dared to break into the Tower.

Half an hour later, he got summoned by Yvonne to the interrogation rooms. He tried not to grin as he made his way to the lifts. This was far more interesting than making sure the files on the ‘Qqq’ weren’t getting mixed up with the files on the ‘Qqqq.’ 

When he reached the correct floor, he made his way to the only occupied interrogation room. Yvonne was waiting for him along with another woman. Through the one-way mirror, Ianto could see the red-coated man, awake now, the stunners having worn off. He was wiry and compact with light-brown hair, maybe in his late thirties, and with dramatically sharp cheekbones.

“Ah, Ianto, good,” Yvonne said, her smile small and forced. “Have you met Vivienne?” Ianto shook his head. “She’s an expert in xenolinguistics.”

“Xenolinguistics?” Ianto echoed. “But isn’t he human?”

“In appearances, yes,” Yvonne said. “But we’re having a bit of a problem with communication.” She gestured to Vivienne. “Go ahead and show him.” Vivienne nodded and pressed the speaker button.

“What is your name, rank, and planet of origin?” Vivienne asked, her voice sweet but her tone serious.

"P jhu'a buklyzahuk fvb, mbjrpu' ipajo!” the man spat. Ianto blinked in surprise. Well. That was a problem. “Nvkklzzlz, P'cl zhpk pa aoyll aptlz hsylhkf fvb'k aopur aolf'k ylhspgl-” Vivienne let go of the button.

“You get the point.” She sighed, but her eyes were aglow with a challenge. “It doesn’t match any language we have on record. We’re trying to requisition UNIT’s translation software, but that could take a couple of days, even if they deign to release it at all.”

“Do we know how he got in?” Ianto asked. Yvonne nodded and picked up what looked like a leather bracer from the table. There was also a large pile of weapons, presumably confiscated from the prisoner. He was, well, had been, well-armed. Ianto counted at least three guns, a couple of knives, and a bloody katana.

“He used this,” Yvonne said, holding the leather gingerly. “Some sort of teleportation device, we presume.” Yvonne flipped it open and showed Ianto the retro-looking inner workings. “He used it to appear in the archives, but he neglected the alarms. Sloppy for a thief with this sort of technology,” Yvonne said dismissively, confident in Torchwood’s might.

“What was he trying to steal?” Yvonne held up what looked sort of like a microchip in a small plastic bag.

“It was stored in the secure archives because of the complexity of the technology and because it was undamaged upon recovery, but we have been unable to decipher its use.” Ianto nodded and looked back through the glass.

“So why would he want it?” Ianto murmured, half to himself. The man had managed to put his foot up on the table despite his hands being cuffed to it. The position didn’t look particularly comfortable, but he was grinning lazily anyway. 

Ianto was used to seeing aliens in the interrogation room. But this guy just looked like any regular bloke you’d see on the street, aside from the dated coat. Give him a better wardrobe and Ianto wouldn’t have looked twice. Well, maybe he would have; he was rather handsome.

“Just got the results back on the scans,” Vivienne announced, distracting Ianto from his reverie.

“What scans?” Ianto asked, grateful that neither of them could see inside his head.

“We ran scans to see if he’s as human as he looks,” Yvonne said shortly. Of course. If it’s alien, it’s ours. “What’s it say, Vivienne?” Vivienne was staring at the screen, dumbfounded, and didn’t seem to hear the question.

“Vivienne?” Ianto asked. Vivienne shook her head lightly and looked up.

“Right. Well, he’s human. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Yvonne demanded, striding over to get a look at the results herself. Ianto joined them, using his height to peer over Vivienne’s shoulder. No matching DNA on record, same for facial recognition and fingerprints. They’d detected alcohol, cocaine, and something else too alien to name in his system. But then Ianto’s eyes landed on the bit that’d had Viviene speechless.

“The future?” Yvonne spat just as Ianto thought it. Viviene nodded hesitantly.

“There were traces of arton energy on him, and while his physiology is human, it’s evolved by a couple thousand years at least. Advanced pheromones, senses, probably other things too,” Vivienne said, reading the notes that the xenobiologist had attached to their scan.

“So, it’s not just a teleporter,” Ianto said quietly. “It’s a time machine.” Three sets of eyes went to the bracer on the table, no longer innocuous.

“I’ll get it sent to the lab,” Yvonne said, striding over to snatch it up. “They’ll be able to figure out what makes it tick.”

“What about him?” Ianto asked, hiking a thumb at the cell. Yvonne waved a hand dismissively. 

“We’ll turn him over to UNIT; they’ll find him a nice cell,” Yvonne said vaguely. Her attention had been completely drawn away from the man and put on to the machine.

“I want to talk to him,” Ianto said. He tried not to blush as both Yvonne and Vivienne stared at him quizzically. “I know he doesn’t speak English, but it’s worth a try. If we can figure out how to communicate, then we’ll be able to find out how his technology works much quicker.” Yvonne nodded approvingly.

“Alright. Take ten minutes, then I’m calling UNIT and shipping this to the lab,” Yvonne said, gesturing with the bracer in her hand. Ianto wanted to protest; ten minutes wasn’t nearly enough. But he held his tongue and held out his hand for the bracer.

“I may require a bargaining chip,” Ianto said as justification. Yvonne gave him a ‘you’re pushing it’ look but handed it over. He picked up the microchip the man had been trying to steal as well, then tucked both items into his suit jacket.

“Good luck,” Vivienne said. Ianto nodded his thanks, then left the room. He took a deep breath and tried to neutralize his expression before entering the cell. The man looked up when he came in, feet back on the ground and hands folded in the cuffs in front of him.

“Vo, olssv! Hylu'a fvb h nvynlvbz zwljptlu?” he said, smirking and staring in a way that made Ianto feel like cattle up for auction. “Hyl hss aol wlvwsl olyl zbjo lfl jhukf? P thf ohcl av zapjr hyvbuk mvy h dopsl aolu.” Ianto sat across from him and tried to see the best in the situation. Sure, he couldn’t understand a word the guy said, but there was still body language. And his tone was definitely flirty. At least he could understand that.

“Nod if you can understand me,” Ianto tried. The man raised an eyebrow, then sighed.

“Zohtl P jhu'a buklyzahuk h dvyk vba vm fvby wylaaf tvbao,” he said in a tone best described as melodramatic. Ianto took that as a no. Okay, then. Good information to have but utterly unhelpful.

“My name is Ianto,” Ianto said, touching his chest. The man mimicked his action, then pointed at Ianto.

“Hyl fvb zhfpun fvby uhtl pz Ianto?” Ianto grinned upon hearing his own name.

“Yes, Ianto,” he said with a nod. The man grinned back, then touched his chest again.

“Qvou,” he said. If that wasn’t the man’s name, Ianto would eat his tie. Progress, finally. (It had only been about a minute and a half, but he only had ten, so he didn’t have time to waste.)

“Hello, Qvou,” Ianto said. Qvou grinned.

“Hizvsbalsf svcpun aol zvbuk vm tf uhtl pu fvby tvbao, khyspun,” Qvou said, giving Ianto another appreciative look. Ianto didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. Instead, he pulled the bag with the microchip from his pocket. Qvou’s eyes widened.

“Why did you try to steal this?” Ianto asked. Qvou made a grab for it, but Ianto held it out of his reach and the chains stopped him short.

“Pm fvb'k qbza sla tl zalhs pa, dl dvbsku'a il ohcpun aopz wpapmbs jvuclyzhapvu,” Qvou huffed. Ianto stared at him blankly and he rolled his eyes. “Pa'z h ayhuzshavy jopw.” He pointed at his throat, then ran his finger up to his mouth. “Pm fvb sla tl wba pa pu tf cvyale thupwbshavy, dl jhu ahsr.” Qvou gestured to his empty wrist, the faint tan line showing that was where his bracer used to be. He mimed taking the chip from Ianto and putting in in his wriststrap, then gestured to his throat again and smiled. Ianto thought he had it figured out.

“So, you’re saying if I put this,” he shook the little bag, “in this,” he pulled the bracer out of his pocket and Qvou’s eyes lit up, “we’ll be able to communicate.” He did the same throat-smile gesture, and Qvou smiled back. Ianto exhaled a shaky breath. “If I die, it’s all your fault.”

“J'tvu, fvb nbsspisl ihzahyk, qbza mbjrpun wba pa pu hsylhkf, ” Qvou said, looking antsy with his wriststrap so close yet so far. But then he laughed, a private little chuckle. “J'tvu, ipn ivf, wba pa pu, P jhu ahrl pa.” He laughed even harder, and Ianto was fairly certain he didn’t want to know the joke. “Fvb'yl sbjrf fvb'yl jbal 'jhbzl fvb'yl yhaoly zabwpk.”

“Alright, alright,” Ianto murmured, setting the bracer down, out of Qvou’s reach and opening the flap. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with the chip, so he looked at Qvou.

“Yltvcl aol jhzpun,” Qvou said, gesturing for Ianto to open the tech up. He found a seam and managed to remove the case, revealing the delicate inner workings. “Svvr mvy aol ibyulk-vba jopw, huk zdhw pa vba. Zovbsku'a il ohyk, lclu mvy h adpa sprl fvb.” Ianto didn’t know why Qvou was still talking when he couldn’t understand him, but his voice was nice and Ianto supposed some people just liked to talk. 

Examining the machinery, Ianto looked for any place the little blue chip could go. After a minute, Qvou muttered something that could only be a curse under his breath. He stretched his hand as far as he could and pointed to a row of chips in myriad colors. Ianto thought one was just black, but upon looking closer, he realized it was burned out.

“Oh, there you are,” Ianto muttered. Qvou made a joyful noise when Ianto reached for the destroyed chip. He would have preferred to use tweezers, but there wasn’t time. So, he just removed it as delicately as possible with surprisingly steady hands.

“Vujl aopz tlzz pz mpelk, dl zovbsk mpuk h ilaaly bzl mvy aovzl ohukz,” Qvou said, the flirty tone back. Ianto ignored him; he was only half done. He removed the blue chip from the bag and carefully inserted it in its new resting spot. Job done, Ianto looked up at Qvou.

“Talk so we’ll know if it works,” Ianto instructed, gesturing to his throat. Luckily, Qvou seemed to get it.

“Hzzbtpun fvb ohclu'a iyvrlu tf cvyale thupwbshavy, aolu pa zovbsk vusf ahrl h mld zljvukz av yljhspiyhal. Aohur mbjr.” There was a crackle of static in the air, and Qvou’s voice started to change. But it wasn’t quite right yet.

“Me yaad karoonga vo din jab me kuchh bhee bol sakata tha. А ты не полный идиот. Pas mal pour un joli visage. Aber ich kann nicht warten zu gehen. Can you understand me now?” Qvou said, voice finally settling in English. Ianto grinned.

“Yes,” Ianto said cheerfully. He put the casing back on the tech and made sure he sealed it up properly. “About time too. I was getting a headache playing charades.” Qvou laughed.

“You think that was bad? I was in the middle of a very delicate negotiation when my translator fried, and suddenly, I couldn’t speak their language anymore. Had to scarper before they decided the solution to our problem was a bullet,” Qvou said, sounding surprisingly calm. Ianto nodded slowly.

“So you just came here for the translator chip?” he asked, hoping that Yvonne wouldn’t burst in quite yet. Qvou nodded. 

“Yup. Got a contact back home who sent me your way.”

“Back home being the future?” Ianto said calmly, a lot calmer than he felt. Qvou met his challenge calmly, with a stare and a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe you’re not quite as dumb as you look, kid,” Qvou said. He leaned in slightly. “But you want to know a secret?” Ianto leaned in too, close enough he could smell what must have been the advanced pheromones Vivienne had mentioned. “No matter how smart you are, people like you always forget.” Ianto ignored how his breath hitched, how Qvou’s voice had settled into something only to be described as tempting. 

“Forget what?” Ianto managed. Qvou smiled, one corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“Don’t watch the mouth, watch the hands.” Ianto barely had time to process his words before Qvou’s fist slammed upward, free of the cuffs, and knocked Ianto backward out of his chair. Ianto watched, stunned, from the floor as Qvou strapped his bracer onto his wrist and grinned.

“Sorry, darling. Was fun, but gotta jet,” Qvou said with a wink. He flipped open his bracer, hit a few things, then vanished into a golden glow as Yvonne and her guards burst in. Ianto just watched, stunned, blood trickling from his lip.

Ianto had been scolded for letting Qvou trick him, but overall, Yvonne wasn’t too bothered. The scans and the analysis they would run on the language in the footage would keep teams busy for weeks. They had bigger fish to fry anyway.

It was a few years before Ianto saw Qvou again: after the fall and TW3 and Jack waltzing into and out of and back into his life. But many of his memories at TW1 were fuzzy. He never made the connection between Qvou and John Hart. 

But John remembered Ianto, remembered the young agent who’d fixed his failure to communicate and looked very cute while doing it. It was a shame he was shagging Jack. The best always found each other. And John was always left out in the cold. 


End file.
